


Human

by XpaperplaneX



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997), Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Canonical Character Death, Cloud/Tifa - Freeform, Cloud/Zack - Freeform, Depression, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Past:, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Past Underage, Sephiroth/Genesis/Angeal - Freeform, Sephiroth/Hojo - Freeform, Sephiroth/President Shinra, Sephiroth/Rufus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:40:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29245983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XpaperplaneX/pseuds/XpaperplaneX
Summary: Two broken souls drifting through the remnants of their lives find each other. And in doing so, find a bit of peace.
Relationships: Sephiroth/Cloud Strife
Comments: 19
Kudos: 84





	Human

**Author's Note:**

> It’s been a while. I hope you lovely readers are well. I may or may not have graduated. I submitted my dissertation two minutes before the deadline. Now I’m looking for a job before my visa runs out and I’m left stateless. How exciting. Naturally, I’m procrastinating by writing fic and drinking wine.
> 
> I was in some sort of mood when I wrote this. It’s an indeterminate number of years post-Advent Children setting where Jenova took the wheel and Sephiroth reconciled with his body. Not much happens in it. It’s more of a character study than anything else. This is me pretending to know what a character study is so I sound smart. There’s a lot of implied past. Probably more than I’ve tagged for. There’s probably implied past Sephiroth/Jenova if you squint. There’s nothing graphic. There’s one sex scene (consensual), but I don’t think it needs an E. A whole fic and I didn’t write the work cock once. Imagine that. I know. It’s disappointing.

“That’ll be seventeen gil, please.” 

Sephiroth handed over his debit card and punched in his PIN.

“It’s been declined, sir. Insufficient funds.”

Shit. He rummaged through his pockets and held out three coins.

“Okay, three in cash, fourteen on your card?”

He nodded shortly.

“Declined again. Is there anything you’d like me to remove from the purchase? Or another card you’d like to try?”

The small basket of groceries didn’t have much. Vodka was the most expensive thing in it. Could he take that out? A half-remembered conversation drifted through his mind. The President never let him drink vodka. Only the finest whiskies for the company’s poster boy. He remembered drinking an entire bottle of something that was far older than him the first time he was sent to see the man alone. It had made it easier.

No. The vodka had to stay. It was the cheapest thing that would let him sleep. 

Toilet paper was a necessity. The lentils, maybe? He still had some at home. Not much, but if he kept the bouillon cubes, he’d be able to stretch them out to the end of the week. Then what? No, he really needed the lentils. He’d never make it through the next round of poison on Monday if he didn’t have something filling enough.

He gave a small snort. Did it really matter if he didn’t? Good riddance. That was what the news would say. If it said anything at all.

“Sir? We’ve got quite a line forming.”

The apples could go. He didn’t know why he picked them up. 

What a lie. He knew exactly why he had put them in his basket. 

Genesis tasted like apples. Not _these_ apples, of course. The apples he had loved were long gone. Orchards and seed stocks burnt to ashes, along with everything else from back then. But there were hints in the sweet crispness of the occasional apple he bought. Enough to trigger a memory or two. To let him remember the kindness they had shown him. The warmth. The guidance. The love. 

The apples could go.

They were gone now, and he knew he didn’t deserve what they had given him. Not even the memories.

“Take off the a—”

“I’ve got it,” a soft voice interrupted. “Can you put his things with mine?”

Sephiroth remained still, his heart beating loudly against his chest, as someone handed over their own card, then placed the items from two baskets into bags. Hesitantly, he looked up as the bags were lifted off the counter.

“Tha—” He froze.

“Hey.” Cloud looked the same. Older, of course. Hair a bit shorter. No sword. But still, about the same. 

Sephiroth wondered what he looked like. When was the last time he had looked in a mirror? Was he even recognizable? His thank you died in his throat, and all he could manage was some sort of strangled sound.

He placed the three coins back in Sephiroth’s hand, then jerked his head towards the door. “C’mon. Walk with me.”

 _Walk with me._ Hojo always said that while he explained his orders. His hand on his lower back, guiding him. Telling him where to go, what to say, what to do, how to do it. That same hand running through his hair and along his jaw. Pushing, pulling. An adequate performance.

Cloud walked with confidence, leading him to a small café where he was directed to sit at one of the tables. His chair was beside a heat register, and the warmth it radiated seeped through his threadbare jeans and into his skin. He held his hands over it, not hearing what Cloud was saying until a cup of coffee and a danish were set in front of him.

He glanced up, unsure of what he was supposed to do.

“Go on. A friend of mine runs this place. He’s a fantastic baker.” Cloud had the exact same thing in front of his own seat, and he took a sip of his coffee.

His teeth clacked together when they sunk unexpectedly quickly through the delicate pastry. Buttery flakes crumbled in his mouth, and the tart sweetness of the lemon filling was a flavour from a million years ago. It took four bites to devour the thing, and he licked his fingers, trying to get every last crumb.

Silently, the empty plate slid away and was replaced with Cloud’s.

Another glance up showed Cloud still sipping his coffee. He looked … concerned? That wasn’t right. Whatever the expression was, it didn’t matter. Sephiroth forced himself to eat the second pastry at a slightly slower pace. The coffee, when he got around to drinking it, was perfect. Black, bitter, with rich undertones that lingered on his tongue. Like what was served on the mornings that he’d wake, bleary-eyed and sticky in Rufus’s bed.

“It’s been a while,” he managed to say.

“Yeah. Not since …”

Not since the WRO dug him out of the Northern Crater, defrosted him, and put him on trial. Not since he’d been condemned to … this.

“You spoke in my defence.” That still surprised him. It was the only reason he wasn’t dead or even behind bars. 

“Yeah, well, you know … Jenova. And even without her, Shinra was way more to blame for you than you.” Cloud looked at him over the top of his mug, considering. Still disturbingly concerned. “You get an allowance, don’t you? That was part of the deal. You willingly have your strength and magic suppressed and they give you enough to live on.”

Sephiroth gave a small laugh. “I’m not dead, am I? Therefore, it’s sufficient to live on.”

“That’s—” A loud noise scared him half out of his skin, and Cloud pulled a PHS out of his pocket. “Shit, I’ve got to go, but here.” He grabbed a napkin and scrawled a number on it. “Call me. I’m serious. If you need anything at all, or if you just want to talk, or not talk, call. Please.”

He turned the napkin over and over in his fingers, then put it in his pocket. He finished his coffee and, after a moment’s hesitation, finished Cloud’s as well. He had added sugar, but it was still warm.

His apartment, when he was arrived, was cold, but the late winter sun was shining brightly enough that it was well-lit. Enough to take in the stacks of dirty dishes and piles of clothing. The few books he owned were scattered haphazardly around the single room. Once, in the far distant past, he had been tidy, organized. Immaculate. 

That Sephiroth had died a long time ago. Along with his professionally decorated company apartment and cleaning service. The current Sephiroth wondered if, with the coins he still had thanks to Cloud’s unexpected generosity, it might not be a bad idea to go down to the gym and pay to use the shower so he could have hot water.

He would put the groceries away first. To his surprise, however, when he opened the first bag, there were several unexpected items. A carton of milk. Another of juice. The apples were his, but not the bananas. In the next bag, there was a chicken breast beside his lentils and vodka, as well as a package of pasta, several carrots, and a bunch of spinach.

Cloud had forgotten his own groceries. 

His fingers slid into his pocket and he pulled out the napkin. He knew he should call. Tell Cloud of the mix-up and offer to bring the groceries to him, wherever he was. Instead, he set the number on the table, rinsed out a cup, and poured a glass of milk. It would keep on the balcony this time of year, but not for long.

An hour later, he sat down to a plate of pasta with chicken and spinach. A plate of stolen pasta with chicken and spinach. Was this really what he was now? A shell of a man, reduced to stealing basic groceries from his enemy and considering it a feast?

Yes. It was.

Sephiroth opened the vodka, thankful that his benefactor hadn’t arbitrarily decided he didn’t need it.

Knocking on the door woke him. Sephiroth rolled over and ran his hand through the remnants of his hair, blinking in the bright sunlight. This high in the sky meant it was too late for his WRO officer to be stopping by for a surprise inspection. And it was too early in the month for his landlord to be looking for rent money. Those were the only people who knocked on his door.

Still, the knocking persisted, and he got to his feet, kicking the empty bottle aside.

Blond spikes and blue eyes awaited him on the other side of the door. Why had he opened it?

“Hey, um …”

A vivid memory suddenly overtook him. The young trooper, so shy in front of his idol, not sure what to say, or if he should say anything at all. Cloud was looking at him the same way now. Like he was still the respected façade he had once been.

“Come in.” He stepped back and opened the door further. The façade was definitely crumbling as Cloud stepped in. There was nothing respectable left. “I … shit, you’re here about your groceries, aren’t you? I’m sorry, I—”

“What? No, I … sorry. I hope you’re not offended, but I kind of left them on purpose.” His eyes still shone so brightly with the mako as he looked up uncertainly. Sephiroth knew his own eyes had faded to a dullish grey with only hints of green.

“I … no. I’m not offended.” He would have been. Once upon a time. He knew he had basically been a kept man, no matter who he was with at the time. It hadn’t felt like charity, however, and he would have been offended by the implication. But that was a lifetime ago. Today he was desperate enough to accept charity.

“I’m glad. I was pretty sure you wouldn’t call and wanted to apologize for running out on you yesterday, so I got your address from the WRO. Sorry for bailing.”

“It’s fine.”

“No. It’s not. You’re not.” Cloud looked around the single room and rubbed his arms. He wished he had tided, at least a little bit. “It’s freezing in here!”

“Yes, well, heating is rather outside the budget.”

Cloud stared at him for several long moments, his eyebrows furrowed into a frown. “Fuck it. You don’t deserve to live like this. You’re coming with me.”

“What?”

“I mean, please. Please come stay with me. I can’t leave you here. Not … not like this.”

“I couldn’t. Tifa—she’d never allow it.”

“Tifa’s out of the picture. Not completely, of course. I still see her and the kids sometimes, but we’re not … I don’t think we ever really were. Not the way she wanted us to be. Not the way she wanted _me_ to be.” Cloud’s posture drooped momentarily, his gaze landing on the empty vodka bottle and lingering for just a touch too long before he gave himself a shake and straightened his back. “So come. I could use the company.”

“Very well.”

What little he owned and cared to bring with him was easily packed into a couple of small bags. Cloud’s home was a fair distance from Edge. Sephiroth was allowed to wrap his arms around the other man’s waist as they rode his motorcycle through the crowded streets. He hated it. There were so many people. So many eyes that stared at him with accusation. This was his fault. He was a monster. He was the reason they lived this way. Once they were out of the city on the rough, but open road, it was better. He could breathe.

The house wasn’t elegant. Neither Genesis nor President Shinra would have set foot in the place. Rufus would have called it rustic chic and delighted in bragging that he had spent a weekend living off the grid. Mother … mother was a different story altogether now, wasn’t she? Angeal might have genuinely liked it. Cloud said to leave his boots at the door and that it wasn’t much, but to make himself comfortable.

It was warm. There was a stove in the centre of the building that pumped heat through the rooms, and fireplaces in the individual rooms for when the stove wasn’t enough. Thick rugs were placed throughout, and he could curl his toes into them. When Cloud handed him a pair of slippers, he didn’t complain, but missed the sensation. The guest room—now his room—held a double bed and a closet. And a fireplace that Cloud had burning in no time flat.

He missed being able to use magic.

“Washroom’s just there. Why don’t you take a bath while I get dinner sorted out?”

“Thank you.” His voice was quiet. Soft spoken. How long had it been since he had commanded an army? He laughed silently at the thought of someone obeying his orders now. They had never been _his_ orders anyway. Just a puppet.

He took a bath. It wasn’t an unpleasant order to follow. The hot water soothed his aching joints. He sank into the tub, missing the way his hair used to float around him. It was nice to get it clean, at least. It was nice to relax. In the quiet room, he watched the steam rising from the tub for a while before closing his eyes, feeling calm for the first time in years without being drunk.

The mirror showed a broken man with ragged hair and stubble on his chin. There was a razor and shaving cream in the top drawer. He spread some on his face and scraped the blade over his skin. Blood pooled and trickled down his neck in several spots. He had never learned how to do this. Mako had meant there was never a need. 

He washed the blood away. At least the residual mako in his system that they couldn’t quite purge had the wounds closing quickly. 

Cloud was waiting in the kitchen when he finally emerged, dressed in the slightly too small, but still comfortable and clean clothing that had been left on the bed. “Hungry?” he asked. Without waiting for a response, he dished up two plates of pork chops, grains, and roasted vegetables. Salad was waiting on the table.

It was more than he had eaten in a long time, but Sephiroth made his way through the plate with determination. They didn’t talk, but he had the feeling that Cloud was sizing him up the same way he was doing. What was this? Where did they stand? How painful was the inevitable conversation going to be? For the time being, he was grateful for the food and the warm bed when he collapsed into it.

There was a note on the table when he woke mid-morning.

_Had some deliveries to make. Left some breakfast in the oven if you want it. Help yourself to anything. I’ll be back late afternoon._

_-Cloud_

The breakfast was potatoes, bacon, and eggs in a dish with cheese melted on top. A couple minutes at a higher temperature had it bubbling again, and Sephiroth dug in. At a loss for anything else to do, he explored the small cottage, then set to work tidying it. His own apartment hadn’t been worth the effort, but Cloud had extended him an invitation to his home. He had to repay it as best he could.

He found most of the ingredients for a Wutaian stew he had learned how to make during the war, and had a reasonable facsimile bubbling away on the stove by the time Cloud returned from his deliveries. Cloud had been carrying some paper bags when he entered, but when Sephiroth asked, he said it was nothing. He said he really enjoyed the stew and went back for seconds.

Sephiroth understood when he saw the packages in the fridge the next morning. They ate day-old Gongagan takeaway for their dinner that night. Neither of them mentioned it.

There was a small garden outside the cottage, but Sephiroth was no gardener, and he was afraid to pull even what he thought were probably weeds. Instead, he spent a while looking at the plants that persisted even in winter, then went back inside to see what else he could find to do.

There wasn’t much. His cleaning spree the day prior had taken care of most everything he could think of to clean. Cloud’s bed was made when he poked his head into the master bedroom. His own bed was made. His washroom was clean. He looked at the bottles in the cabinet he had dusted earlier, but shook his head.

He drifted towards the library where Cloud had brought his small bag of books, claiming that he would shelve them soon. They sat on a small table beside a chair. 

Cloud’s shelving system was … lacking. Not even alphabetical by author. Well, it was a project he could work on, so he supposed he should be grateful for that. At least they hadn’t been arranged by colour. He added his own books in where they fit for the time being, then browsed the shelves, wondering what sort of books Cloud saw fit to read.

“What are you reading?”

Sephiroth nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden voice.

“Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I just … um, dinner’s ready.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry, I meant to have dinner—”

Cloud cut him off with a shake of his head. “I like cooking. How about we set up a schedule? Nights I’ll cook, nights you can, and nights we can order in, that sort of thing.”

When Monday rolled around, Cloud said he didn’t have any deliveries to make, and so drove him into Edge. He went into the WRO headquarters with him and sat by his bed in the medical centre, holding his hand while the poison was pumped into him. Angeal and Genesis had often done the same, though it hadn’t been poison then, at least not in the strictest sense. Cloud’s hand was warm. He had taken off his gloves to touch him.

There were still no deliveries in the afternoon. Cloud remained at his side, brushing his hair out of his eyes and rubbing his back while his body fought back against the poison. By evening, he was able to keep down the small bowl of broth Cloud brought to him in bed. When he woke in the morning, Cloud was slumped in a chair next to him, snoring lightly.

They sat together on the couch in the library that evening, each holding a book. Cloud kept glancing over at his.

“What are you reading?” he eventually asked.

Sephiroth held it up so he could see the cover.

“Is it scary?”

“Not particularly. I suppose it depends on what scares you. What do you have?”

“I dunno. It’s boring.” Cloud tossed A Tale of Two Cities on the coffee table.

“That’s a classic for a reason.” He tried to keep the disapproval out of his tone.

Cloud gave a soft huff. “Yeah, probably. I’ve never been much of a reader.”

“For someone who doesn’t read, you have an awful lot of books.”

“They came with the place. I couldn’t think of anything else I wanted to do with the room, so I left them.” He gave him a small smile. “Glad you like them.”

“Would you like me to read aloud to you? That might be more engaging for you.”

“Really? Yeah, I’d like that.”

Sephiroth turned back to the beginning of his book while Cloud shifted so he was right next to him.

_“I am by birth a Genevese, and my family is one of the most distinguished of that republic. My ancestors had been for many years counsellors and syndics, and my father had filled several public situations with honour and reputation. He was respected by all who knew him for his integrity and indefatigable attention to public business. He passed his younger days perpetually occupied by the affairs of his country; a variety of circumstances had prevented his marrying early, nor was it until the decline of life that he became a husband and the father of a family.”_

It became their routine. Cloud would make his deliveries during the day, returning with groceries and other necessities. Sephiroth would putter around the cottage trying to feel useful. They would eat dinner together, then retire to the library. He didn’t always read to Cloud. Some nights, Cloud had to do paperwork for his business. Other nights, he wrote in a leather-bound journal. Some nights they even talked. 

On the nights he read aloud, Cloud would shift closer and closer until he was leaning against him.

It was pleasant having someone there. Some warmth at his side. Someone who didn’t look at him with revulsion, but rather like he could see the shadows of the human he might have been. Cloud said he wasn’t lonely, but Sephiroth noticed that he never had visitors, and only once since he’d moved in had Cloud called to say that he was getting a drink with some friends and would be home late. That night he had looked at the bottles in the cabinet again. The glass he poured burned its way down his throat, settling warmly in his stomach. 

He didn’t pour a second. It was warm in the cottage, and Cloud would be home soon enough.

It wasn’t surprising when one night, after Sephiroth closed the book they were reading, Cloud reached up and touched his jaw, trailing his fingers along it. Sephiroth leaned into the touch, tilting his head downward as Cloud raised his. Their lips touched, lightly at first, then with growing passion. His arm that had been draped over Cloud’s shoulders pulled him closer.

What was surprising was when Cloud pulled back slightly. “Do you want this?” he asked softly. “You don’t have to. I don’t want you thinking you owe me or something.”

No one had ever asked him a question like that before. He’d never considered whether or not he wanted—that was irrelevant. Cloud sat back as he thought, but didn’t go far. He turned the question of wanting over and over in his brain, examining it like it was a piece of manufactured materia that needed to be checked for flaws. What was wanting anyway? Was he capable of it? Or was it one of the human emotions he wasn’t permitted? 

Needing was not the same as wanting. He knew his needs. They were currently met and exceeded. Was it wanting? When he stoked the fire at night even though his bed was warm enough. When he lingered in the bathtub long after he was clean. When he enjoyed each moment that Cloud spent with him. When he missed him while he was gone?

Sephiroth didn’t have the words to explain. Instead, he reached out and cupped Cloud’s cheek, drawing him back in. Cloud let himself be drawn. When their lips touched again, Sephiroth felt certain. 

He wanted.

When their clothes grew too restrictive and Cloud led him by the hand to his bedroom, he wanted. Their bodies pressed together, skin to skin. Not warmth now, but heat. Heat and passion and pleasure boiling between them. Coming out in soft gasps and slick sounds. How many years had it been? He wondered how long it had been for Cloud.

The man looked at him in question when he spread his legs, but didn’t hesitate for long. Cloud was gentle. Far too gentle, but that was better than the opposite. He pulled Cloud down to him when he was entered, and Cloud held him tightly in response. They clung to each other as they rocked together, like they were both afraid of losing the connection. It couldn’t last forever, but they dragged it out for as long as possible. When Cloud finally spilled into him, the heat of it was all Sephiroth needed to find his own peak.

They didn’t move until late the next morning.

***

“You should come into town with me today. You really need some new clothes.”

Sephiroth looked down at what he was wearing. The shirt was his, threadbare and faded. The pants were Cloud’s, ending several inches above his ankles and too tight despite his lost muscle mass. “All right.”

It had been several days since Sephiroth had abandoned his bed for Cloud’s. Like most things, they didn’t really discuss it. For the first couple days, he had gotten dressed in the second bedroom where his clothes were. When they were removed at the end of the day, they ended up in Cloud’s hamper, then in his wardrobe after they were washed. It didn’t take long for Sephiroth to run out of clothes in his room. He moved his slippers into Cloud’s room and his room became a guest room again. 

He’d never had a relationship like the one he found himself in with Cloud. The man seemed averse to giving him orders, and it was difficult to navigate at first. He learned to interpret quickly. ‘I like your voice,’ meant that Cloud wanted him to read to him. ‘Have you ever had grand horn steaks?’ meant that Sephiroth should find either a recipe or a takeaway place for them. ‘You’d look good in blue,’ meant that he should pick the blue shirt Cloud looked at in the shop. It worked well enough once he figured it out.

When they finished their shopping, they ate lunch at a small restaurant near the ruins of Midgar. Cloud debated between two dishes, and so Sephiroth got the one he didn’t order. Cloud’s smile when he put some of it onto his plate made him smile in return. He smiled again when Cloud shared with him.

“Would you mind if we made a quick stop before we head back?” Cloud was looking towards the ruins when he spoke. “It’s just we’re close by, and it’s been a while since I’ve visited. You wouldn’t have to come in if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Thanks.” Cloud squeezed his hand as they walked out to his bike. It earned them several scornful looks, but Sephiroth was used to that, and he placed himself between Cloud and their observers.

It was a short ride to Cloud’s destination: a large, abandoned church. A couple children were playing by a small pool of water that was surrounded by flowers when they entered. They called out a greeting when they saw Cloud, but fell silent when they noticed Sephiroth. He sighed and ignored them, wondering why they were here.

He understood when his gaze fell on the buster sword. Polished to a shine, it was standing near where an altar would have been, surrounded by flowers. A shrine to a fallen hero. He sank to his knees in front of it, feeling the weight of his crimes more than ever. Cloud sat down beside him. Legs crossed with a small smile on his face.

“Hey guys. It’s been a while.” The words weren’t directed at him.

Whatever else Cloud had to say to his lost friend, he said it in his head. Sephiroth lost track of how long they had been there, feeling no urge to leave. When Cloud eventually got up, he remained a moment longer.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered before standing.

He knew it was just his imagination, but he could have sworn he heard a whisper on the breeze as he turned away.

_Take care of him for me._

He would. For as long as Cloud continued to let him, he would.

Cloud froze when he stepped back outside, his entire body stiffening like he was expecting an imminent attack. Sephiroth stilled as well, lingering just behind him.

“Cloud?” A woman’s voice said. “I didn’t know you were in town. Why didn’t you call?”

“I …” Cloud stepped to the side, leaving Sephiroth standing in the open doorway.

There was a moment of silence as Tifa took him in, then she turned on Cloud. “What the _hell_ is _he_ doing here?”

“We were in the area and I wanted to say hi. I thought …”

“Thought you’d bring Aerith’s _murderer_ to her sanctuary?”

Aerith. The Cetra. Sephiroth glanced behind him in growing horror. He remembered Zack’s story of falling through the roof of a church in the slums. Of meeting a girl who grew flowers. Of buying a pink ribbon for her hair. The ribbon that had come undone when he stabbed Masamune through her heart.

“Thought he’d want to pay his respects to Zack. They were friends.”

“He murdered our families and burnt our home to the ground! Have you completely lost your mind?”

Cloud shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe I’m starting to get it back. I’ll see you around, Tifa. C’mon.”

Sephiroth was helpless to do anything but follow as Cloud pushed past Tifa. He kept his head down, hating that he was defenceless if she decided to attack him. He had a suspicion that Cloud might defend him if she did, and he didn’t want that. He could feel her glare burning into his back as he climbed onto the bike behind Cloud.

“Sorry,” Cloud said when they pulled to a stop in front of the cottage. Neither of them moved to get off the bike. “I didn’t think … She knew you’re living with me. That’s why she hasn’t brought the kids around. I just … just wanted Zack to see you. So he could know I’m okay.”

“Thank you for letting me go with you. Zack … I appreciated the opportunity to apologize to him. But perhaps I should avoid going there in the future.”

Cloud gave a small laugh. “Probably for the best.”

“I’m sor—”

“Don’t say it. I forgave you a long time ago.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “Hating you won’t bring anyone back. Come on, let’s get your stuff put away, then let’s make pizza or something for dinner.”

Cloud drank that night. It was the first time Sephiroth had seen him touch the cabinet. Between them, they finished off a bottle of rum Cloud said he had won in a chocobo race. Midway through telling him about his first S-ranked race, Cloud burst into tears. Sephiroth didn’t cry as he held him in his arms and wiped away his tears, but he felt like if he did, it would be okay.

***

Winter slowly turned to spring. Sephiroth read several books on gardening and set himself to work outside when it became apparent that Cloud had no interest in the task. Cloud continued to accompany him and hold his hand for his monthly treatments. The WRO officer in charge of his case approved of him living with Cloud. Out of the city and away from the general population was for the best. Cloud could keep an eye on him. The officer gave Cloud a list of warning signs to watch for. He found it crumpled in the trash the next day.

“We have a guest coming for dinner tomorrow,” Cloud said as he stepped into the library one evening.

“Okay.”

“Not Tifa, don’t worry.”

“I’m not.” He set his book aside and held out his arms, recognizing Cloud’s own worry and desire to be comforted.

Vincent Valentine shook his hand when he greeted him at the door. He had known Sephiroth’s mother—his real mother—and he spoke a bit of her over dinner. They very carefully did not speak of Hojo, of the lab where Valentine had met his mother, or of the monsters that Sephiroth could sense lurking in the man. It made for some gaping holes in the stories Valentine told, but that was fine by everyone at the table.

Sephiroth did the dishes when they finished. Cloud said they could wait until morning, but nodded his understanding when Sephiroth insisted. He needed a break. So Cloud and Valentine retired to the library, and Sephiroth watched water run over the smooth surfaces of the plates. He wondered if his life would have turned out differently if he had known about her.

When the dishes were drying in the rack and he could delay no longer, he made his way to the library, pausing outside the closed door. He didn’t intend to eavesdrop, not really, but he was curious about what kind of conversations Cloud had with other people.

“It just … feels right. Comfortable. Nothing’s felt right for so long that …”

“Are you happy?”

“Yeah. I mean, I’ll never be Mr Cheerful, but I never was. That was Zack’s department. He balanced us out. But yeah. I … I like spending time with him. I miss him when I’m away, and coming home always feels better than leaving. He makes me remember how to smile.”

“Is he happy?”

“I think so. Does he not seem happy to you?”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“Then what?”

“I certainly can’t say for sure, but I got the impression that he’s …” Sephiroth held his breath for the long pause Valentine took. What was he going to say? His stomach churned with worry that it would be something that made Cloud decide he couldn’t remain. “Molding himself to fit you.”

“What do you mean?”

“It occurred to me that, until recently, he’s never been without, for lack of a better word, a master. We both know the circumstances under which he was raised were abusive at best. Hojo dictated his entire childhood, then President Shinra, then Jenova. They didn’t create a SOLDIER like him by allowing him autonomy or independent decision making. When you described his situation when you found him, it seemed like someone struggling with suddenly having no one to guide him. Among other problems, of course. I can’t help but wonder if, in you, he’s found a new authority figure.”

“Do you think I’m hurting him?”

Sephiroth fled before he could hear the answer. He grabbed a bottle without looking at what it was, then ran out the back door. Cloud found him sometime later, alternating between vomiting and drinking. The gravel path hurt his bare feet as they walked back to the cottage. 

After a hot shower and a lot of water, Cloud curled his body around him and stroked his hair until he fell asleep.

“We need to talk.” Cloud sat at the foot of the bed in the morning with his legs crossed, looking down at his hands in his lap.

“It’s fine. Just, can I have a few days to find a new place?”

“What? I’m not kicking you out!”

Sephiroth was stunned by the outrage in Cloud’s voice. “Should I move my things back to the other room?” he asked cautiously.

Cloud looked up at him. “Do you want to?”

Wanting. He had pushed the subject from his mind since the night they first slept together. Now it was back.

Wanting.

He thought of the words Cloud had spoken about his happiness. About feeling right. Missing him. Remembering how to smile. 

He did not want to lose that. Even if he didn’t deserve it.

“No. I don’t want to.”

“I don’t want you to either.” Cloud reached out and lay his hand over his.

“I don’t think you’re hurting me.”

“Valentine didn’t think so. But he wondered if it might not be a good idea if you gave a bit of thought to yourself. What do you like or not like? What do you want to do? You know, we’ve never had an argument, and I’m pretty sure that’s just because you go along with everything I say. When he pointed it out, I realized that yeah, you have kind of just slotted yourself in to fit with my life, filling in the gaps I leave behind. I love having you here. I love having you be a part of my life. But I’d like to be a part of _yours_ too. We can have gaps.”

“I … I don’t know how.”

“Let’s start small. What’s something you don’t like?”

He wasn’t supposed to complain. But Cloud was smiling so gently. “I don’t like the colours.”

“The colours?”

“Clothes. I like black. Or grey.”

Cloud’s smile grew. “Good. That’s a great start. We can do this.”

When he returned from his deliveries in the afternoon, Cloud was carrying several bags. When they went to bed that night, Cloud wore a green T-shirt that was much too large on him. When Sephiroth dressed in the morning, there were new clothes hanging on his side of the wardrobe, all in black and varying shades of grey.

Sephiroth started experimenting to see what he liked. 

He joined Cloud in the garage to work on his bike. He did not like that and spent over an hour in the shower making sure all the grease was off him. 

He ignored the garden that he didn’t enjoy working in. Cloud hired a gardener to come by once every two weeks.

He started letting his hair grow out. It would be years before it got to its old length, but he enjoyed brushing it every night.

He signed up for a life drawing class at Edge’s community college. He used Cloud’s name and wore a hat and coloured contacts in hopes of not being recognized. His disguise was successful, but he spent more time staring at the model and pondering what it meant to be human than he did drawing. He got the impression that the model found him creepy. He tried drawing fruit at home once the classes were finished. That went better, or was at least less of an existential quandary, if not a particularly skillful endeavour.

Cloud bought a second motorcycle so he could have more independence, and he spent many long hours exploring the countryside on it. Cloud said he was happy to have a second bike to work on, and didn’t mind doing the maintenance for him. He helped Cloud with his deliveries on busy days in exchange.

He borrowed a lathe and some tools from one of Cloud’s friends. Cloud introduced them one at a time, starting with the ones who didn’t have a personal grudge against him. Cid was loud and swore like a sailor, but he made a good cup of tea and didn’t mind showing him the basics of wood turning. He made a wobbly mug that earned him a passionate kiss when he presented it to Cloud.

When Cloud asked him if he’d like to try topping, it took him a while to convince himself that Cloud wasn’t _telling_ him to top, but letting him know that he could if he wanted to. He thought about it for several days before deciding that yes, he would like to try. He found that he liked it quite a lot, and appreciated Cloud’s willingness to switch on occasion. That revelation gave him the courage to finally tell Cloud that he didn’t particularly like how gentle he was. That he liked a bit of pain with it. Cloud happily obliged him after discussing some boundaries, and Sephiroth found himself adapting to the curious sensation of feeling both fully satisfied and fully safe.

More and more, he found himself thinking about his past. He thought about Genesis and Angeal and the madness they had suffered when confronted with the reality of their making. He thought about Hojo and his quest for power and control, not caring about the humanity he shed and the lives he ruined along the way. He thought about Mother and the hope she had given him. That he was better than human. Not a monster, but something _more_. He knew the truth of it now. He knew he wasn’t better. For the first time in years, however, he was beginning to feel like he wasn’t less, either.

A late autumn rain storm was threatening to turn to snow one evening, and Cloud built up a roaring fire in the library. Sephiroth stared at the shelves and shelves of books and it felt like the first time he was really _seeing_ them. All those words. All those stories. He wanted to share his. When Cloud held up the book they were reading together, he shook his head.

“Not tonight. I …” Sephiroth stood, almost stumbling in his haste to get to Cloud’s writing desk. He very carefully set Cloud’s business papers to the side so they wouldn’t be disturbed, then found a pen and several blank sheets.

Sephiroth wrote.

Like a man possessed, he filled sheet after sheet. At some point, Cloud kissed his cheek and disappeared off to bed. The fire died down, but he paid it no mind. The heat lingered. He wrote until his hand had cramped up and he couldn’t find anymore blank paper. Cloud snuggled in close when he climbed under the covers, but sleep was a long time coming. He had too many words that weren’t yet committed to paper.

He woke late to an empty house and grabbed a muffin and an apple before heading to the library. A freshly purchased ream of paper sat next to his filled pages. Cloud must have gone out early to get it for him before starting his work for the day. The thought of someone doing that for him made his chest ache.

He sat down and picked up his pen. Some of the words came easily. Some refused to come out right and he drew line after line through them. Some caused tears to fall onto the pages that he had to quickly blot away before the ink ran.

A hand on his shoulder brought him out of his trance. Cloud smiled down at him. “Dinner time.”

“Oh, shit, it’s my night to cook.”

“Don’t worry about it. You know the schedule’s mostly so you don’t try to do everything. But no skipping meals. We both know how you get when you’re wrapped up enough in something that you skip meals.” 

It was said with a smile, but he understood exactly what Cloud was referencing and took his concern to heart. “No skipping meals.” He stood and stretched his arms high over his head before wrinkling his nose. “No skipping showers, either.”

Cloud laughed, and the tension dissipated.

He wrote for another hour after dinner while Cloud took his pile of completed pages and carefully numbered them. Then he put his pen down and cuddled up on the couch with Cloud and their book instead. 

“Did you read it?” he asked, gesturing to the now neatly stacked and clipped pile.

“Just a couple words here and there. I’d love to read it when you’re ready to show me, though.”

Sephiroth nodded and nuzzled his nose into Cloud’s hair. “You’ll be the first. Probably the only.”

“I think there might be some other people out there interested in what you have to say.”

After his initial feverish pace, Sephiroth mellowed slightly. The lathe and drawing pad went neglected. His half of the chores and his time with spent with Cloud did not. Only on a few occasions did a plate of sandwiches appear next to him at the writing desk, reminding him to eat. His apologies were brushed aside with soft smiles and tender kisses. 

As the months went by, Valentine and Nanaki both expressed an interest in what he was writing, and he cautiously said that they could read it if Cloud agreed after he finished with it. Finally, on a sunny spring afternoon, Sephiroth set down his pen.

He straightened the latest stack of completed pages, put a clip on them, and placed them at the bottom of the main stack. It was finished. 

Almost. He picked up his pen again and stared at the first page. The title that had been milling around in his head for months wasn’t terribly good, he knew. Then again, it was quite likely that none of what he had written was terribly good. He felt it was the best fit, however. Encompassing who he had been, and who he was now, complete with all his flaws.

He put the pen to the page and wrote _Human_ at the top.

Sephiroth always looked forward to Cloud returning home. That day, he looked forward to it just a little bit more.

**Author's Note:**

> Quoted text from Mary Shelley's Frankenstein.


End file.
